This is More Than Pain
by xxjourney
Summary: Only a death could bring out the love. Spam.
1. Chapter 1

**This Is More Than Pain.**

**--**

"Can you tell me why exactly we're here?" Carly Shay asked her best friend, following her closely through the crowd.

"Because, Carls," Sam Puckett replied, "we needed to have a good time, and what's more fun than a fair?"

Carly shrugged to herself.

"Now let's get something fried!" Sam exclaimed, pulling Carly toward a food stand.

There was a long line, and neither of them really felt like waiting. "You can't have the proper summer fair experience without something cooked in grease," Sam said as she looked over the line, slightly disappointed. "But I guess we won't have the proper summer fair experience this year, huh?"

Carly pretended to look devastated. "Nope, I guess not."

"Aw man. Do you think I should punch everyone to get to the front?"

"Sam, what have I told you about randomly hurting innocent bystanders?"

"Hrumph. It's not nice."

"Right."

JOY.

"Hey, let's go on this thing," Carly said, pointing to some kind of swirly thrill ride.

Sam shrugged. "Alrighty-o, Carly girl."

They boarded the ride, standing next to each other and strapping in. A man walked by, checking to make sure everyone was buckled and safe, and once he left, the ride started. It swirled slowly at first, then faster and faster, rising to reach the sky. Sam laughed and Carly screamed. Neither one took their hands of the bars they were strapped into, for fear of flying away, although that wouldn't happen. The ride spun and spun, each time around adding a memory to each of the girls.

"I think I'm gonna puke!" Carly yelled.

"I know, isn't it awesome?" Sam hollered in reply. "Hey, try to move your neck!"

Carly tried. "I can't! It feels like my head will fall off!"

Sam laughed. "This is awesome!" she repeated.

LOVE.

They spent the whole day at the fair, going on all the rides, eating wherever there wasn't a massive line, and visiting all the attractions. They caught a few random indie bands playing on the stage in the middle of the fairgrounds and bought a few knick knacks at the craft tables.

By nine o' clock, the girls were exhausted from their day and ready to go home. "Where did we park?" Sam asked, clicking the alarm on her keychain. The beeping came closer and closer to the girls, as they made their way to Sam's dirty fifteen-year-old Prius. Sam laughed. "That was easy. It takes me longer to find my car at Mall Mart," she said, opening the driver's side door. She leaned over and unlocked the passenger side for Carly. "Come on in."

Carly slid into the seat, buckling herself in. Their bags of stuff sat before her under the dashboard. "I'm so tired," Carly said, emphasizing her point with a yawn.

"Take a nap, then," Sam told her, turning on the engine. "It'll take, like, half an hour to get back to your place, so I guess you'll be okay."

Carly nodded. "That swirly thing was so fun," she said, eyes closed. Sam drove out of the parking lot.

"Oh, I know! How many times did we go on it?"

"Um...three, I think. And then you got hungry."

Sam sighed. "That was a good corn dog, too."

"I wouldn't know. You ate mine." Carly was almost asleep, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you care if I turn on the radio?" Sam asked her sleeping friend. "I won't put it on metal or anything."

Carly nodded, and Sam turned the knob on the radio. The car was filled with top 40 softly playing. Sam played the beat on the steering wheel at a stoplight. "Do do doo..." she hummed. The light turned green.

The next thing that happened would be haunting Sam in her nightmares for years to come. The skidding. That was what became the most prominent sound. The skidding of a car trying to stop but failing, hitting Sam's car. She looked to her right just in time to see the sleeping form of Carly illuminated by head lights, and a scream emitted from her lips at the exact moment the car slammed into hers.

GONE.

She awoke, feeling something wet underneath her left side and a sharp pain in her entire right side. There were people, voices. "Someone call 9-1-1!" a passerby screamed. "Are they alive?" somebody else asked. Everything went black again.

LOST.

Sam's eyes fluttered open in the ambulance she didn't remember getting into. "She's awake!" the paramedic called out.

"What happened?" Sam groaned.

"You were in a car crash. It's amazing you're still alive."

"Where's Carly?"

"Who?"

"Carly. She was in the car with me."

The paramedic's eyes darkened. "She's not as good as you, dear."

Tears filled Sam's bloodshot and unfocused eyes.

"Where is she?"

"The other ambulance."

"Is she dead? Is she going to die?" Sam was sputtering and her head was swirling and her legs hurt and nothing was making sense anymore.

"We're not sure."

The machine beside Sam's head beeped loudly. It sounded so far away. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over Sam's mouth and nose. "Don't leave us," the woman whispered to Sam.

HELP.

The paramedics pushed Sam through the emergency room, rushing quickly to the tables where many a life had been saved. They all yelled things to one another, but Sam didn't pay any attention. She was hooked up to machines and tubes, but she didn't feel anything. All she could think about was Carly.

They cut her shirt, the shirt she borrowed from Carly, the purple one with the winged skeleton on it. Sam was only hoping that Carly was alive and wouldn't be upset about having her shirt returned cut in half and covered with blood. Cold air hit her raw skin, and she cringed. Pain shot through every limb in her body. Nothing felt right. This wasn't how the "proper summer fair experience" was supposed to end. Sam's mind wandered as the doctors and nurses tried desperately to help her, to fix her. She thought about Carly, Spencer, Freddie, her mom; everyone that had ever impacted her life and made a difference.

_So this is how I'm going to die? On an operating table in the emergency room?_ Sam closed her eyes and tried to focus on something. She wanted to find another world where she felt healthy and alive.

Her mind drifted to their senior prom. Had that really only been a month before?

_Do you remember how you fretted so much, Carly? How you wanted to know if your eyeshadow "complimented" your corsage? You wanted me to help you with your hair, but I only made it worse. Remember? I do._

_You were so pretty in your bright pink dress, your shiny dark hair swept up and held in place with the sparkly barrette Spencer made for you. I remember the way light bounced throughout the room when the you moved your head. I told you, "If I were a lesbian..." and you laughed._

_I felt so boring while I was getting dressed in your bathroom. You made me feel better when I got out, telling me, "You look gorgeous." You said I had picked "the perfect classic: the little black dress." You helped me straighten my hair, and we talked, all excited, about what was awaiting us in just a few hours. I took your big red flower clip and stuck on the side of my head as a joke, but I remember how you tilted your head to the side thoughtfully and said, "I like it."_

_And then when we went downstairs to be bombarded by Spencer taking all those pictures, we posed like models. I almost tripped in my heels, too, remember? You said, "Don't break your ankle. I'll leave you in the emergency room and go dance with your date." I knew you were joking. I knew you would stay by my side the whole night if I did, then nurse me back to health with an ice pack and plenty of chicken noodle soup. _

_Then when our dates came, I saw the look Jacob gave you when he came into your apartment, and I know what he was thinking. One word: breathtaking. I hoped Freddie would give me that look, too, and he did. _

_I felt like a teenager and not like the daughter of a drug addict that night. I had such a great time. Remember when Taureen talked the ear off the DJ and got kicked out? That was hilarious. And of course Gibby dancing shirtless on the table after drinking seven cups of punch. I told you to stay away from the punch, that it might be spiked. You laughed, but I was serious. I didn't want you to get drunk and throw up all over your floor-length dress._

Sam started feeling something warm flowing through her veins, and she started getting sleepy. The distant beeping of the heart machine lulled her to sleep.

_Carly, you are my home, my best friend, my sister. We're supposed to grow old together. We promised to be the bridesmaids in each other's weddings and the godmothers to each other's children. You can't let this all slip through our fingers. Pull through; for me._

RELIEF.

Sam awoke hours later. She turned her head, painfully, to see Spencer Shay beside her. His eyes were puffy and red. He perked up when he saw her looking at him. "Sam," he said, standing.

It hurt to cry, but she did anyway. The tears penetrated some of the bandages that were placed on her face. "Hi Spencer," she said, though she couldn't move her jaw very well.

"Oh my God, Sam. I can't believe you're alive," Spencer sobbed. He wanted nothing more than to rock her in his arms, but he knew that would not be the best of ideas.

Sam's mind instantly went to Carly. "How is she?"

He just shook his head tearfully.

Sam blinked. "Tell her I love her, Spencer," she managed painfully. "Please."

"Of course," Spencer said softly. "Anything for you." He kissed her forehead gently, the area where there was no bandage.

He was in the doorway, about to leave Sam's room, when she tried to get his attention. "Spencer, where's my mom?"

He turned around to face her. "She's on her way."

What Sam didn't know was that her mom's car was the one that crashed into hers. Her head had slammed into the dashboard, cracking her skull; she had died on impact.

ALONE.

Spencer walked over to his sister's room. The monitors beeped beside her. "Carly," he whispered. "You have to get better. You'll be leaving too much behind if you don't. Sam loves you. I love you. Granddad loves you. Dad loves you. Freddie loves you. I bet even Mrs. Benson loves you. Hell, your fans love you," he smiled. "Please, Carly. You're the reason I wake up in the morning. Please don't leave us like Mom did. I'll--I'll--"

Suddenly the machines beside Carly started beeping louder. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't be in here," a nurse said, pushing Spencer away fiercely.

"But, but--that's my little sister!" Spencer protested through his tears.

"I'm sorry sir, but we might be losing her," the man said simply. He pushed Spencer out of the room and left him standing in front of the window, sobbing.

He watched as they hooked up a machine and rubbed paddles together, placing them on her chest in an attempt to start her heart.

"Please don't let her die," he prayed. "Please don't let her go."

They repeated the paddle process for thirty minutes, but Carly was gone. The doctor looked over at the clock. "5:17 am. Thursday the 14th."

"No!" Spencer screamed. "No! She can't be gone! She just can't be!" He pounded on the door to the room, screaming. "No! She's sleeping! Please, no! She's alive! She's a deep sleeper! God, no!"

He rushed into the room once the door opened. The nurses were removing the tubes and needles that were attached to her lifeless, unrecognizable body. Her normally smooth, milky complexion was interrupted by purple bruises and red cuts everywhere. Both arms and her left leg were broken; her right shoulder bone was completely exposed. Her face was twisted, and her hair was jagged and messy, cut buy the shards of metal and glass from the car. A giant gash on her right cheek left most of her cheekbone visible. Chunks of her skin were missing underneath the bandages.

He couldn't stand seeing her like this; his normally beautiful, bubbly baby sister was now _dead. _She would never open her eyes again, he would never hear her laugh again or see her smile. Spencer sobbed, leaning over her body. He held her in his arms, her limp body like a rag doll's.

"Come on, kiddo! Sam and Freddie are here to do iCarly!" he told her in desperation. How he wished this was a nightmare. How he wished that all he had to do was will himself to wake up and get out of this.

"Carly, I made you spaghetti tacos! Hurry and get some before Sam eats them!" He was saying anything that would wake her up, but he knew it was no use.

The nurses worked around him. To them, she was just another dead girl. To them, she was just a number. Sad as it was, they could not dwell on the fact that such a young girl could die so soon. To them, she was another statistic in the "number of people who die in drunk driving accidents annually."

One nurse touched his arm. "We did all we could."

It felt like he stood there for hours, holding and talking to his little sister. She wasn't dead. She just wasn't. This horror couldn't be reality. Spencer told her everything: the time when he accidentally broke her My Little Horsie doll when she was three and blamed it on the mean neighbor kid, when he used up the last bit of the toothpaste, when he lied about not having enough gas in the car so he didn't have to take her to Sam's house. He apologized and cried, and when he said everything he could, he put her down. He wiped his eyes, though it was useless, as he began crying again. "I love you Carly," he whispered, kissing her cold face. He pulled the sheet over her head, and left with a heavy heart.

NO.


	2. Chapter 2

**nug-nug:** Yes. Spam. Again. Seriously.

* * *

Sam woke up in a cold sweat, violently tossing the covers off of her shaking body. She gasped, trying to get air into her constricted lungs. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, collecting her thoughts and calming her racing heart, when she realized the room she was in was not her own, nor was it the hospital room she had been trapped in during her nightmare.

It was Carly's.

"Carly?" Sam called out hoarsely. "Carls!"

No answer. Sam got up, pulling on the hem of her tee shirt. "Are you in the bathroom?" There was no light coming from under the closed door. "Are you peeing in the dark again?" she asked with a smirk. Still no answer, not even when Sam turned the knob and opened the door. "Carly!" she called out louder. A crash came from downstairs. Sam ran to it.

Turning the corner down the stairs, she saw Spencer, sitting at the bar. A broken lamp lay beside him on the floor. Sam stood at the foot of the stairs, confused, until she asked, "Spencer? Where's Carly?"

Spencer turned around slowly to face the blonde, tears staining his cheeks. His expression was as confused as hers. "Sam, she's gone."

With that look and those three words, a sudden wave of nausea and remembranceovercame Sam. She ran off into Spencer's bathroom, sobbing. Her stomach took over and it emptied itself, leaving Sam to cry and gag on the dry heaves. Spencer came up behind her, rubbing her back and crying with her.

"I forgot!" was all Sam managed to choke out. Her tears mixed with the vomit in the toilet, but neither Sam nor Spencer bothered to flush. It didn't matter anymore. The only thing that truly mattered was Carly, and she was gone from both of them forever.

Sam stood, still weeping, and headed over to Spencer's sink, where she wiped her mouth and tried to swish some mouthwash around. Spencer stayed close to her, an arm wrapped around her small frame the whole time. It was like he wanted to hold her together and make sure she didn't run or break. He didn't want her to leave him. They needed each other.

Sam spit into the sink and turned around to face Spencer. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and instead threw her arms around his neck and cried into his thin tee shirt. "H-how c-c-could I forg-get?" she wailed.

Spencer leaned down to rest his head on Sam's shoulder. "I wish I could forget," he whispered, tears spilling. "It's so painful, Sam. It's so painful."

"N-no, th-this is mo-ore, more th-an, than p-pain," she sobbed. "I m-miss h-her, Spence."

Spencer's hold around Sam grew tighter. "Me, too." His voice was high, a green light for the gates to open and the water to spill. He cried. Hard. Harder than he had ever cried before; more than when he broke his leg in the second grade, or when his dad went into the Navy, or even when his mother died. Sam was right: this was more than pain. Pain _was_ breaking your leg or losing your favorite pair of pants. Losing your sister _and_ mother in a six year time span ripped your heart out and threw it off a bridge, then set everything you ever loved on fire.

"I don't know how to start over," he cried.

FORGET?

He carried her to the couch an hour later, and they both fell asleep. He held her as she dreamt, protecting her. She couldn't leave him. He just wouldn't let her. Every woman he had ever loved left him: Grandmom...Mom...Carly...

Not Sam.

LEAVE?

Sam let out a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. Almost all of her scars from the accident were fading, but she was always going to see them, no matter how many years would go by.

She looked down at the counter, running her hands over the smooth surface. She smiled, remembering how Carly always kept her bathroom clean. Every Sunday, she would run around with Ajax and steel wool, scrubbing the tub, the sink, the counter, wiping the mirror and the small window with a paper towel and Windex. Sam either sat on Carly's bed watching TV, or downstairs, raiding the fridge and poking fun at Freddie.

Sam tried her best to keep Carly's bathroom clean while she was staying there, but it was difficult. Too many things brought back memories, and Sam always had to put the mop down and leave the room to talk to Spencer. He was the only person that truly understood what was going on. He had lost his mom six years ago, when Carly was 12. That was when he had to take care of her. Sam had just lost her mom seven days ago. They had both lost their best friend--even _sister_--the same day, the same instant.

Spencer popped his head into the room. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded into the mirror. "Let's go," she said quietly, adjusting her black skirt.

REMEMBER?

Sam held Spencer's hand and stayed close. She said "thank you" to everyone who offered their condolences, trying to be polite. She knew that they all really meant it, but she felt like they could never understand how sorry _she_ really was.

Spencer and Sam met up with Freddie. He was in a corner, hands in pockets, eyes cast downward.

"Hey, Freddo," Spencer said. The boy looked up, his eyes having some sort of pleading look in them. Sam let go of Spencer's hand and wrapped her arms around Freddie. He closed his eyes and sobbed.

Eventually his cries grew calmer and stopped, but he never let go of Sam and vice versa. "She really did love you," Sam told him.

"I know, Sam. She loved you too, I could see it."

Sam pulled away from Freddie, looking him in the eyes. "I know. And I want you to promise that no matter what happens we'll stay close and never forget her."

Freddie nodded. "Promise."

Sam pulled him in for another hug before taking Spencer's hand again, whose owner had been standing beside the eighteen year olds and crying silently. Sam motioned for Freddie to follow them.

PROMISE?

"I want to thank all of you guys for coming today," Spencer said as he stood at the podium. "For those of you who don't know who the heck I am, I'm Spencer Shay. Carlswas my sister. I know she would be thrilled to know so many people loved her, and I know she would also rather have this ceremony to be a celebration of her life, not a mourning of her death." Many people in the crowd nodded, including Sam, who sat between Freddie and Granddad. Spencer continued. "So, in keepingwith that, I want to read you guys a verse I found in the Bible. We weren't super religious, but I thought that she would like if I said this."

He cleared his throat and took out a notecard. " 'Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land.' I liked that because that's kind of like the feeling I want all of you to experience. Carly's gone, but that only gives us a chance to celebrate her life to the fullest extent, you know? I just don't want everyone to cry and be so sad. Carly was always so happy. She always knew how to make me smile and brighten up my mood, and for some reason I feel like that verse captures her life. She had so many friends and people that loved her, and, if you don't believe me, listen to what Sam has to say." He moved away from the podium and motioned for Sam to come up. She stood nervously, hugging Spencer as he took her seat and she took his place on stage.

She smiled weakly at the crowd. "Hey, everyone. So, uh, if you don't already know me, I'm Sam Puckett, and Carly was my best friend. Um, I'm going to try and get through this without crying, but we'll see if I do or not." She let out a deep breath. "I met Carly back in third grade, when I tried to steal her tuna sandwich. Unlike most other kids, she actually fought back and won. At that moment, I knew she was different from everyone else. She had guts, and I appreciated that. Carly and I became what you'd probably call 'fast friends.' I ate lunch with her everyday after, we played at recess together, and once she invited me to her house, I practically lived there." Sam paused, biting her lower lip and holding back the tears that stung her eyes. "She was funny, smart, and probably one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet in your life. She opened her home to me when I couldn't stand to be around my mom, she opened her heart to me on those late nights we stayed up talking, and she opened her arms when I needed to cry. Most importantly, she opened her refrigerator."

She smiled, and the audience chuckled lightly and uneasily. "It's okay, guys, you can laugh." Everyone smiled.

"I was in the car with her that day, and I'll never forget the day we had," Sam continued. "That's what I'm trying to dwell on: that day, not that night. I want to remember her smiling while the sun was setting, I want to remember her singing along to the radio when we were driving. It makes me happy and lightens my mood. If I just remember how the life left her body, I may never smile again." She wiped away the tears that managed to escape.

"I want her life to continue on, even in death. Keep her alive, guys. Keep her pictures on your walls, keep her laughter in your memories. We all loved her, and she loved us. Remember the better days, like the time she gave you her umbrella so you didn't have to get soaked when you walked home, or the time when she gave you her sandwich when you forgot your lunch. I know that there is more than one person in this room who knows what I'm talking about.

That's what I want you to remember. Not a broken body in a hospital bed. The eighteen years when she had life are more important than the days we won't have her. We will bury her happy, because we now know that she is an angel and not stuck in a body, limited by mortal immobilities. She is free and around us. She's standing right beside me, I can feel it." She grinned again, through her tears. "Stay strong, everyone. She'll always be with us."

And with that, she left the stage.

CRY?

* * *

A/N:Sooo...that's chapter two. Still dealing with her death, reminiscing and whatnot. By the way, Dan has confirmed that Spencer has been taking care of Carly since she was twelve.

Anyway...reviews are welcomed with open arms.


	3. Chapter 3

"How much does cremation cost?" Sam asked while she and Spencer sat at the kitchen table, pushing food around their plates.

Spencer pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. "I think about a hundred."

Sam nodded solemnly and looked down at her plate of meatloaf.

"You, uh, can't bury her?"

Sam shook her head, poking the dead cow with her fork. "No one cares."

"What do you mean?"

"No one cares enough to come to the funeral or nothin'. Plus, it's too expensive."

"I can help you out, you know. Pay for the coffin, whatever you need."

Sam forced a small smile. "Thanks, Spencer, but she told me she wanted to be burned in an oven when she died."

"Is that where you get your twisted sense of humor?"

"I guess."

Spencer moved from his chair across the table to Sam. He kneeled down beside her and said softly, "Listen, Sam. I lost my mom, too, and I know you gotta do what you gotta do. If you want to burn her or bury her or have a ceremony or whatever, I'm here for you, alright? I'm here to talk or if you need some help with money, whatever it is." He grasped her hand. "I love you, kid, and we need each other."

Sam nodded. "I love you too, Spence. Thanks." She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"And plus," Spencer said, "at least you're not an orphan and forced to live in the streets."

Sam pulled back. "You always did know how to screw up a moment."

IAMHEREFORYOU.

Spencer fell into a fitful slumber that night. He was dreaming of crematoriums and dead angels, and every time he opened his eyes he thought he saw those big brown eyes staring back at him. Those big, lifeless, brown eyes. The spark they once held was long gone, probably buried with her and her blue sundress with the one fake sunflower in her hair. His heart ripped.

What was _really_ going on? Was this, this "reality" actually just a horrible, never ending nightmare? Was he going to wake up one day, make some waffles, and relay the whole thing to his three favorite kids over breakfast?

He closed his teary eyes again and tried to focus on sleep. Just as he was drifting off into dreams, he was starled by the feeling that he should wake up. Lazily, Spencer opened his eyes again and looked over to his right. There, across the room on the wall, was a note Carly had written him probably near six years ago, when their mom first died. It was full of beautiful words and comforted him, even if it _was_ written by a twelve year old. Spencer had taped it up as inspiration and read it every day before leaving his room to eat breakfast. Carly had seen the paper stuck to the wall, but she didn't really pay any attention to it and never asked why it was there.

As Spencer got up from his bed and went over to the note, he couldn't help but smile. For days after Mom died, he stayed cooped up in his bedroom sobbing, only leaving to get something to eat. He had woken up one day to find a piece of pink paper folded neatly underneath his door, and "TO: Spencer" written carefully on the side facing up. He read the page a few times, then ran out and hugged Carly as she sat before the TV, cereal bowl in hand.

Now as he stood in front of the faded note again, he read the contents with new eyes. It seemed no longer to be about his mom, but this time about the struggle of losing Carly, too. It was as though she knew this was going to happen.

_Dear Spencer:_

_I know you've been crying a lot when you're in your room, and it makes me feel bad. It's hard for me, too, but we're going to have to remember the good times, right? I mean, if you keep on thinking about how she's gone, you'll forget when she was here. (I know, I'm so insightful.) Just do what I do: when you feel like crying, smile instead. It's a lot easier and makes everyone feel better, Spencer. Just smile. I promise, it'll be better. _

_Oh, and remember: I love you. =)_

_--Carly_

Those few sentences helped him through some bad break ups, the loss of a few fish, and now he was hoping it would help with this. Carly was right; she was insightful, especially for a kid her age. There was a reason he had that feeling of waking up. It was sort of like Carly was telling him she was fine, that it was him she worried about.

Spencer carefully took the note down and took it with him to the kitchen, where he stuck it to the refrigerator to share with Sam in the morning. He hung it up in between the emergency contact numbers written in bold and comic strips yellow with age. So many memories this one appliance held, especially since it was the one used most often. The years that he and Carly had lived here had been plastered up on the doors: the pictures Spencer found lying in the street, letters from dad, school lunch menus and Carly's A+ tests. The sound of it being pulled open and slamming shut whenever Sam came over for dinner.

The one thing he couldn't bear to stick up was Carly's funeral invitation. Doing so would make this whole thing too real, and he didn't feel ready for that. It had only been a little over a week and a half, and these wounds were still fresh.

Spencer was so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the blonde sneak up behind him. "What are you thinking about?" Sam asked, and Spencer jumped a little and turned around.

"Uh, you know. Everything."

Sam nodded in understanding and sat on the kitchen island. "So much to think about now. Used to be just iCarly, sleep, food, friends."

"Mischief," Spencer added, smirking, as he leaned on the counter beside her.

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

They drowned in their thoughts for a moment, until Sam cleared her throat. "I, um, know what I'm gonna do about my mom."

"What's that?" Spencer asked, rubbing her arm soothingly.

"Burn her and have a memorial service," she said darkly, staring at the ground.

"Do you need any help?"

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "Just a little." She exhaled. "Do you ever think about what it would be like when you die?"

Spencer hopped up onto the island. "Well, yeah, I mean, I'm sure everyone does at some point."

"I do; all the time. What's weird is that I always pictured myself dying in a car crash. Maybe I shouldn't have done that."

Spencer put an arm around her. "You know this wasn't your fault, Sam. Don't even start to blame yourself."

"I--I--" Sam stuttered, trying to figure out what she could say. "I don't know."

"Sam, I'm telling you. What happened was no one's fault. It was just...fate."

"It was fate for your little sister to die in a car crash while I managed to live?" Sam asked, her voice rising subtly. "You know that's no fair."

"There's no such thing as fair in this case."

"Yeah, there is, Spencer. Fair would have been for the girl with the future to have lived, not some miserable, worthless waste of human skin that I've been told I am."

"Who tells you those things?"

"Everyone! I can tell from their looks and the crap they tell me, especially the counselor at Ridgeway. 'Oh, Sam, buckle down and do your homework, you can get into an Ivy League if you tried,' " she imitated in a high voice. "Or, 'Sam, if you don't stop misbehaving, you'll never be able to become a great member of society.' Ivy League my ass, and who said I wanted to be a great member of society? It was my _destiny _not to be, and maybe it was _fate_who decided I'd become an alcoholic's daughter and bastard child. Maybe it was _fate_ who decided to arrest me three times for trying to do the right thing. Maybe _fate_ was the one who figured I should be alone the rest of my life. Maybe it was _fate_ who decided I should kill my best friend!" She was yelling now, red faced, tears in her eyes. She had jumped off the island and was pacing the kitchen, screaming at no one in particular.

"Sam, calm down," Spencer tried.

"You can't tell me what to do!" she screamed. "I'm so tired of everyone trying to tell me what I should become!" She pulled up the left sleeve of her long sleeve shirt. "Look! This is what those people made me do, Spencer!" On her forearm were small scars, barely noticeable but definitely there. "I just want to be loved!" she sobbed, collapsing into Spencer's chest.

Spencer wrapped his arms around her tightly. "You're safe here, Sam. They won't get to you anymore," he promised as she continued to cry. He rubbed her back and hummed to her Carly's favorite song. Spencer knew this would help; Carly played the song day and night. Sam had grown to love the song as well, and slowly she began singing in between cries. "It was you and me against the world," she chocked out, "and you promised me forevermore."

As Sam sang, she heard a familiar voice in her ear, whispering the chorus.

IWILLPROTECTYOU.

* * *

**A/N:** Switching the focus a teeny bit.  
I love all three of my readers. (:


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Spencer was driving Sam home as she sat in his passenger seat with an urn in her hands. "That was intense," she muttered, pulling her dark hood over her eyes.

"It's always intense," Spencer confirmed, putting a hand on her knee reassuringly. "But you made it through the entire service, kiddo."

Sam smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess I'm kind of proud. It was exactly how my mom would've wanted it: Aunt Maggie chain smoking the whole time, Uncle Morris drunk." She stopped, a grin on her face. "She would've liked that. Just her family, being themselves, I mean."

Spencer chuckled. "They seem like fun people. Would've liked to know them."

"Yeah."

They drove along in silence. Signs advertising for waffle houses, gas stations, and fast food restaurants were stuck in place as they passed. A soft mist fell from the clouded sky, spotting the windshield. It was days like this she looked forward to: the rainy days in the middle of summer, those unexpected days of cool rain after the bright Seattle sunshine.

Those unexpected days of cold sadness after a particularly cheerful one.

"Spencer?"

"What's up?"

"Can we go to the beach?"

---

The dark waves crashed as Sam stood before them, her arms wrapped around her torso. The sand was empty; rare for a summer day, but then again, not many people wanted to be at the beach during weather like this. She gazed up at the clouds, the sharp mist stinging her eyes. Standing there on the coast, alone, made her feel as though all her problems were as small as the sand she stood on.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, she released the pain she had been holding back. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. A scream freed itself from her lungs, along with the hate she was holding against people, the grudges, the misunderstandings. Sea gulls flew away, startled, as she kicked the ground. This was what she needed, what she had been craving for _years;_ a chance to cleanse herself. Sam smiled as panted for breath as a new feeling swept over her: peace. Just as she was about to turn around and go back to Spencer's car, a bright figure flashed before her. As quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Sam's brows furrowed and she rubbed her eyes. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe she was just dehydrated and seeing things.

Again, the figure appeared. This time it stayed, standing before her. She blinked and tried her hardest to see what it was. She looked around to see if anyone saw the light, but the only people around walked by and didn't seem to notice anything.

"What are you?"

It didn't reply, only pointed toward the ocean.

She looked to where the figure pointed. There, standing in the middle of the waves, was a girl. Her wet dark hair was plastered to her pale forehead, and her mouth was turned up into a smile. As she waved to Sam, her fingers glittered and seemed to move in slow motion. A bracelet sparkled on her wrist.

Sam ran toward the water, yanking off her jacket and pants, kicking off her shoes, and throwing her cell phone on top of the pile. She felt like if she didn't hurry, the girl would be gone. Sam waded to where the girl was, waist deep in the ocean.

"Carly!"

The girl maintained her smile. "Hey, Sam."

"How did--what--I mean--you're..._dead_," Sam managed.

"Yeah," Carly replied, as nonchalantly as anyone could imagine.

Sam put her hand to Carly's face.

"I'm legit," Carly said, laughing.

"I've missed you."

"I know. I miss you, too."

"My life sucks without you."

"Are we lovers?"

"Only if you want us to be," Sam said, and they both laughed.

"So...why are you here?"

Carly moved her arms in circles under the water. "I can't pay a visit?"

"You know what I mean."

It seemed so natural; it was almost like Carly had never left.

"I wanted to tell you I won't mind when it happens."

"When what happens?" Sam asked, brows furrowed.

Carly sighed. "You'll know. Oh, dang--someone's coming. I love you!" she said quickly, then vanished, just as Sam was about to ask another question.

"Sam! Wake up!"

The blonde sat up, startled. "Why?" she asked Carly.

"Because you can't sleep on the beach," Spencer replied.

Sam looked up at the ocean, but there was no one, just the waves. "How did I fall asleep?" she asked Spencer.

"I don't know. I was hoping you would tell me." Spencer offered a hand. When she reached up to take it, she noticed Carly's bracelet on her wrist.

"I don't remember..." She looked back at the ocean. Spencer followed her gaze. There was still nothing.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go home and make something to eat," he said, taking her hand.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

---

Three hours later, the two of them were wrapped up in blankets on the couch, an array of Chinese takeout containers strewn about the floor.

"I'm sleepy," Sam said, yawning. "What time is it?"

Spencer checked his watch. "Seven thirty. You can sleep on the couch or I could carry you upstairs when you fall asleep, if you want."

"Is it really that early?"

"No. It's nine."

"I'll just stay down here, then. Keep you company." Sam yawned again. Girly Cow mooed on the television, complaining about how she couldn't find a dress to the next party.

"Let's play a game," Spencer said suddenly. Sam shrugged in agreement and propped her bare feet onto Spencer's lap.

"I Spy," he said. "You go first."

Sam looked around the colorful room, her eye falling on the watch clock on the wall by the stairs. "I spy with my little eye something orange."

"No fair, this place is full of orange."

"You're the one who wanted to play, Spence."

"Well, not anymore. How about Guess What I'm Thinking?"

"Whatever. You go first."

Spencer rested his arm on the back of the couch. "Okay, got it."

"Is it big?"

"Yes."

"Is it silver?"

"Yeah."

"Is it your car?"

"Yes. How'd you know?"

Sam smiled. "Carly would think of the same thing whenever we played." She pulled her sleeves up to her elbows. The bracelet glittered in the dim lighting. By moving her wrist slowly, it glinted and cast a few rainbow patterns on the ceiling.

"Where'd you get that?" Spencer asked, noticing the jewelry.

"Carly," she admitted.

"She gave it to you?"

"Uh huh."

"Wow. That was the bracelet my mom gave her."

Sam's brows furrowed and she pulled her sleeves down again. "Really?"

"Yeah. For her eleventh birthday. She only wore it a couple times, though, because she didn't want to get it dirty or nothin'. I wonder why she gave it to you."

The blonde shrugged. "I really couldn't tell you."

Spencer nodded slowly. "I miss her."

"Of course you do. It's not like _I_ don't."

"Ever think about her?"

"Everyday."

Spencer smiled at something. "I remember, when she was probably six years old, she decided she was old enough to pack her own lunch. Not even a year into school, and she figures she can make a meal. Edible one, anyway. So I go downstairs for breakfast, and I find her lunchbox full of everything. A sandwich, some chips, like three little packs of fruit snacks, an apple, an orange, a can of soda -- it's insane." Sam grinned and traced the pattern on the couch with her finger.

"I ask her, 'Carls, do you really think you'll be that hungry?' and she goes, 'I don't know. I'm packing in case anyone else is.' I thought that was the cutest little thing, you know? Preparing for her friends."

Sam nodded. "I kind of surprises me that someone like her would actually be friends with someone like me."

Spencer poked her head playfully. "Aw, what are you talking about?"

"It's like your story. She was always so giving and sweet and stuff, and I'm usually the one taking."

"But you're tough. You were kinda like a bodyguard, only cooler. And smaller. You stood up for your friends and didn't take people's crap. She admired that."

"Really?" Sam asked, bewilderment sparkling in her eyes.

"Sure! I do, too. You're a tough cookie, kiddo."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, man-o."

Spencer pushed her feet off his lap and stood up. "No problem, Sam. You sleepy still?"

She nodded, yawning again. "Where you going?"

"I'm thirsty. Sorry," he told her, grinning, as he headed to the fridge. "Oh!" he said suddenly. "I've got something for you." He turned on his heel and ran back into his bedroom. Sam stared at the television, pretending that she was spending the night with Carly, throwing popcorn around the room and talking about boys. She was almost convinced when Spencer came back into the living room, a plastic bag in hand. He gave it to Sam, who pulled out its contents.

"Cocoa butter?" she asked, reading the label.

Spencer nodded. "Uh huh. It's good for, uh, getting rid of scars. I thought, you know, you could use it on your arms. Erase the bad memories?" he tried.

Sam's look of utter confusion slowly melted into a grin. She threw her arms around his neck. "Thanks," she said into his shoulder. "No card?"

"Shockingly, Hallmark was fresh out of 'sorry people suck' cards."

Sam smiled. "It's all good. You smell nice."

"I smell nice?"

"Yeah. Like cookies or something. I never noticed that before."

Spencer pulled himself from Sam's grasp and smelled his arms. "Huh," he said. "Guess it's just my natural body chemistry."

"You're crazy, Spence."

* * *

Sorry for the lack of updates -- I've been busy with school junk.

Anyway, review if you want to.


	5. Chapter 5

Judging by the small amount of sun trying to make its way through the dark clouds of a summer storm, Sam figured it was early afternoon. She had fallen asleep on the couch, and, by the looks of it, so had Spencer. His arms were wrapped around her torso protectively as he slept silently. Fat drops of rain pounded on the roof, splashed against the windows. There was really nothing more Sam wanted to than to lean her head against Spencer's chest and fall back asleep, but she had something more important to do.

Carefully, she wiggled out of his arms, placing a pillow in her place. She tiptoed out of the living room, up the stairs, and into Carly's bedroom. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears buzz. She opened a window, and instantly a humid breeze and the sound of thunder resounded in the room. She went to the closet. Carly had told her that, in case something happened, there was an item Sam needed to find.

Sam dug through the shoes and fallen items of clothing on the bottom of Carly's closet, uncovering a metal box. It wasn't a safe, more like a metal makeup case. Sam pulled it out of the closet and brought it with her to the middle of the room, where she sat Indian-style with the box before her. Lightning flashed, casting sudden bright intervals of light into an other wise dark apartment.

She unclasped the locks on the top and pulled open the box. Inside the box were various items -- a diary, a few folded pieces of paper, some jewelry. On top of all that was a piece of paper with a list. Sam lifted it out of the box, shut the lid, and sat on Carly's bed, reading the paper aloud.

" 'This piece of paper is a legal document that ensures the equal division of all belongings of Carly Shay after her passing.' " Sam furrowed her brows. "A will?" she asked nobody in particular.

She scanned the page, and it was, indeed, a list of various family members and friends that Carly intended to give her things to if she'd died. It wasn't a formal will, just a piece of paper she had gotten a lawyer to sign. Sam didn't know where Carly had found this "Counselor Juarez" and she didn't really care. Carly was the kind of person who prepared for the things most people didn't even bother to think about, like natural disasters and -- _this._

Sam looked for her name, and found it below "Wendy Patterson."

"To Samantha Puckett I leave: my clothes," Sam read aloud, "so you don't have to go shopping for a year; that necklace you always wanted; my high tops; anything plaid; my camera; and I always promised you could have my PearPod. I love you, Sam. Always."

That was it. That was all that Carly left for Sam. Naturally, Sam would've felt comfortable not taking anything, but these items were all that Carly had left for Sam. Just -- items. The things she could not take with her.

Sam sighed and let the paper fall to the floor. She lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling. Thunder rolled, and a breeze sent a chill up Sam's spine. She didn't move to close the window. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and crossed her bare arms over her chest.

---

Sam must've fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she was being shaken and whispered to by Spencer. "Sam? Come on, Sam, it's dinnertime."

Slowly, she opened her eyes. "Really?" she asked, groggy.

Spencer nodded. "What're you doing up here, anyway?"

"Um, just," Sam sat up, stretched, "looking for something."

"Oh. Did you find it?"

"Yeah, actually." Sam pointed to the simple will on the floor beside Spencer's feet. He lifted it, mouthing the words as he read it. He sat beside Sam, examining the paper.

"Colored pencils...sketch pad...Play Doh?" He looked over at Sam, who shrugged. "Did you know about this?"

"Well, like, I didn't know she had a will, but she told me she had something in case, uh, something happened to her," the blonde replied quickly, nervously.

"It's not legit, is it?"

Sam nodded. "Some Juarez lawyer signed it for her."

Spencer shook his head slowly. "Wow. I told you she was always prepared."

She cracked a smile. "You bet. Should we -- should we let everyone else on this thing know?"

"I -- guess so. We can't just keep everything if this is legally binding."

"Yeah," Sam replied softly.

"It's raining pretty hard," Spencer observed, gazing out the window. The storm had not stopped since Sam fell asleep.

She scoffed. "Some summer, huh?"

Spencer didn't ask what she meant. He knew she was talking about more than just the weather.

And he agreed.

"Come on, Sam," he said after a while. "Let's make pancakes."

---

Downstairs, the kitchen was covered in dry pancake batter and various pots and pans were strewn about the floor. Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter, beside Spencer. "Maybe pancakes weren't such a good idea," she mused.

"Well, I mean, isn't it just the mix and water?"

"It's supposed to be." Sam pursed her lips and thought. "Next time just get the frozen ones."

"Oh," Spencer said, grinning, "so I'm not capable of figuring out how to make pancakes?" He reached up to the counter and grabbed a handful of dry mix.

"No!" Sam said, noticing Spencer's hand. "Don't!"

"Say I'm good at cooking!" he negotiated.

Sam tried standing up, but she slipped on a puddle of water and fell. "Aah! No! I don't lie!"

"Say it!" Spencer said, trying his best to keep from falling over as he laughed.

"Never!"

Spencer crawled over to Sam on one hand and threatened her with the pancake mix. "Say it, Sam!"

"No!" She tried to push his floury hand away, but ended up with the pancake mix all over herself instead. "Ah, shit."

"Ha!" Spencer teased. "You got yourself!"

Sam scooped up some of the mix off the floor and threw it at Spencer as he laughed at her. "Not so funny, eh?"

Spencer twisted his face into mock anger and quickly grabbed the box of pancake mix off the counter. He threw another handful at the now standing Sam. "Aw, man!" She lurched for the box, but missed when Spencer turned. Instead, she ended up knocking down Spencer and landing on top of him.

"Ugh!"

"Hey! I'm not fat!"

"You are when you're squashing me! Get off!"

"No! You threw flour at me!" Sam propped herself up on her elbows beside each of Spencer's sides.

"You started it," Spencer stated innocently.

"I did not!"

"Yeah, you did." Spencer caught Sam's eye and smiled. She felt heat rush to her face.

"Uh, I -- " But her sentance trailed away as the space between the two slowly began to grow smaller.

Sam had never kissed an older man, but when her lips touched Spencer's everything felt -- different. Like the world had been hiding this sweet secret for years and hadn't bothered to give her a hint about how to find it. Yet at the same time, it was _Spencer._ He was always her "big brother." He taught her to ride a bike, how to swim. He was goofy and funny and artistic. Shouldn't it be awkward? She knew it should be. Her eyes shouldn't close, his hands shouldn't be around her waist.

With Spencer, Sam didn't feel like she had to impress him or prove that she was a good kisser. It was like they were puzzle pieces; they fit together, communicated. He told her a story as his lips moved, his tongue gliding softly over her teeth.

After what seemed like both a long and too short a time, Spencer pulled away. Sam hadn't even noticed that the both of them had ended up sitting. He put a shaky hand behind Sam's head and leaned his forehead against hers. He looked into her bright blue eyes and she smiled.

"Did not," she whispered.

* * *

Sorry for the huge gap between updates!

Please don't throw food at me.

Review if you wanna.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam yawned and threw another rag at Spencer. "Here," she said. "You wipe the cabinets."

He scoffed. "You haven't cleaned anything."

"Have too. I washed the dishes."

"Sam, it was one glass."

"And a fork," she pointed out.

"Oh, fine," Spencer grumbled, picking up the rag off the floor beside his feet. "I knew pancakes were a bad idea."

Sam smiled. "You tried." She wandered into the living room and flopped on the couch, turning on the TV. In the kitchen, Spencer whistled as he wiped pancake mix off the cabinets and countertops.

"Hey," he called out to Sam, "how did it get on the ceiling?"

Sam turned around and looked up at the spot on the kitchen ceiling where Spencer pointed, six feet below. "Oh. Beats me. There's nothing good on TV," she added, getting up to go to the kitchen and help Spencer. She left the television on.

"No good fights?" he asked as she grabbed an old rag to scrape dried mix from the floor.

"Nah. Not even reruns."

They cleaned in silence, the soft sound of the television and pelting rain in the background. Somewhere in the building, a baby cried.

Sam stood up from the now clean floor to wipe off the fridge. "Man, this stuff got everywhere," she observed.

"Yeah, because you got the idea to insult my cooking skill."

"Oh, shut up. So you kiss me as revenge?" Her back was to Spencer, but she knew he was turning redder than a tomato.

"Best revenge I could think of," he said after a while.

Sam smiled, and a pink paper on the refrigerator's door caught her eye. "What's this thing?" she asked, taking it down to show Spencer.

"Oh." He took the paper. "Carly, ah -- gave this to me after my mom...passed away."

Sam nodded absent mindedly, reading the page. Spencer watched as her blue eyes moved left to right, taking the words in. He tried concentrating on Sam, not his family with the empty holes.

She looked up at him. "Ironic."

With that, she stuck the paper back on the stainless steel door and hurried upstairs, alone.

---

Sam went back to Carly's room, shutting and locking the door behind her. She didn't want Spencer to come in. She just wanted to spend time with her best friend's memories.

The metal box was still on the floor, still open, still waiting. She pulled out the diary and took it with her to Carly's bed, were she sat to read it.

Opening it to any random page, Sam read an entry.

_May 24, 2011_

_Woot! Junior year's almost over. Thank God. This was probably one of the worst years of my life; I felt really awkward he whole time, and I'm not sure why. Maybe this is the point in time where you can tell the difference between boys and girls mentally, you know? Like, all the guys are consumed with the idea of getting laid, but girls are like, "No." At least, I was. I didn't (and still don't) want some random guy to get in my pants unless we've been dating at least a year. _

_Call me old fashioned. One night stands are tacky. Yeah, insert conceited hair flip here, har har. _

_But anyway, enough of that. I got the job on Sunday! You are now reading the words of the new bagging girl at Hey Food! I'm psyched. Finally, my own cash. The manager called and asked when the soonest I could start would be, and I said Wednesday (tomorrow) after school would be the best, since I would rather not work on a Monday (but I didn't tell him that) and today I had the school beautification meeting after school. I planted lots of purple flowers, by the way._

_Hmm, maybe junior year wasn't too bad._

_I'm gonna go have some celebratory fruit._

_I will leave you with this random thought: Brady Bunch of what? Grapes? The Brady Bunch of Grapes of Wrath. I slay me._

Sam laughed at that last part. Carly always knew how to amuse people, even if it was just a diary she might not have even intended anyone else to read.

She remembered when Carly started working at the grocery store, and how excited she was. Of course, as the days wore on, she got even less excited and more tired. Then she got her first paycheck, which got her excited again, meager as minimum wage is. It was a never ending cycle, but Carly was accomplishing something and Sam was proud of her.

She put the diary down on the colorful comforter to look at later and looked around the room. On every shelf was something: a picture, a trophy, a figurine. There was a vase of dried flowers on the corner of her desk and a poster of Cuttlefish on the closet door. On one wall was drawings and doodles, done directly on the wall with the words "no reproductive organs!" written and underlined three times. There were flowers drawn in permanent marker, stick people in crayon, "OMG i have no nose" and "iCarly rulez" painted on. Sam loved to doodle stuff late at night, when she couldn't sleep but Carly was already snoring.

The blonde smiled and stood up from the bed to go over to the window. Even the window sill was decorated with random finds from the dollar store and thrift stores. Plastic beaded necklaces were wrapped around a picture frame that held the photo of a beach sunset, taken one day last winter when the two of them decided to visit on a day that threatened snow. A plastic palm tree sat beside the frame. Sam picked it up and observed it. Carly found it in the street one day on the way to the Groovy Smoothie, tucking it into her pocket. She colored the spots were the paint rubbed off, setting on the sill "so it can grow," she'd joked.

The will crunched as Sam accidentally stepped on it. She picked it up off the floor and stared at it, deciding what to do. No way did she want Carly's bedroom, a pristine memory of her, to be taken apart and given away. Sam wanted it all to herself and Spencer. She didn't want to hand over Carly's life to those who may not have even known her very well, may not even deserve it. The people that didn't understand Carly's hospitality, even for a tiny fake palm tree.

Inhaling deeply, Sam was tempted to crumple up the paper and throw it in the trash, maybe cut it up into tiny little pieces and flush it down the toilet, possibly toss it into the rain to be destroyed. She shut her eyes. Thinking about this was reminding her of the loss, of that night. She didn't want that. Sam unlocked the door to call out for Spencer.

Almost immediately, he was in the room, an alarmed look on his face. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Is there a rat?"

Sam looked up at him, tears already staining her cheeks. "I don't want to get rid of her."

Spencer's expression softened and he held Sam as she buried her face in his tee shirt. She cried softly, soaking the thin cotton of his new Smashing Pumpkins shirt. He lifted her head, softly meeting her lips with his.

"She'll never be gone," he promised.

* * *

Spencer seems like he would be a fan of the Smashing Pumpkins.

They kissed twice!

Review?


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